


To the Moon and Back

by AShortWalkToDelinquency



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Abduction, Angst with a Happy Ending, Buried Alive, Choking, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Gil/Malcolm, Panic, Threats, Whump, running out of time, suffocating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShortWalkToDelinquency/pseuds/AShortWalkToDelinquency
Summary: It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to lash out at the lid and scream into oblivion, but he knows he needs to keep his cool and ration his oxygen intake. His entire body shakes, a tremor that rocks him from head to toe as he tries to suppress the panic that builds and grows inside of him, making it especially challenging to run his hands over the boards and around the edges of the coffin that surrounds him, searching for a way out that he already knows doesn't exist.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 92
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea had been floating around in my head for a while and I'm excited to get it out into the world!
> 
> It's a bit of a bumpy ride, but I promise there's a happy ending ❤

"One more story?" Analyn asks, batting her eyelashes in a way that Malcolm never could say no to. And she knows it. "Please, Daddy?"

Gil tells him all the time that he gives in too easily, that he spoilers her. Perhaps he's right. But Malcolm can't seem to help himself. He rolls his eyes theatrically and collapses back on her bed with an exaggerated sigh. 

They both know the answer is yes.

"Fiiiiine," Malcolm acquiesces, sounding entirely hard done by. He tries to keep a straight face, but when Ana tosses herself back on the pillow next to him with a peal of giggles, he can't keep himself from smiling along with her. "What are we reading next?"

She climbs over his body to get out of bed, kneeing him in the stomach as she goes and laughing at his dramatic, "Oof!" as she does. It only takes her a moment to come back with a selection from her very well-stocked bookshelf and then Malcolm is heaving her back into bed, getting her tucked beneath her Backyardigans quilt before settling in beside her.

"Okay, Sweet Pea, this has to be the last one, though, okay?" Malcolm says seriously, peeking at his watch and realizing just how far past her bedtime it really is. "You know I love you to the moon and back, but Papa is going to come home soon and I'm gonna be in so much trouble for letting you stay up so late."

He says 'so much trouble' but what will really happen is that Gil will give him a stern look — all pinched lips and furrowed eyebrows — and tell him he needs to stop spoiling her and set some rules. And then he'll tug Malcolm into a hug and pepper him with kisses and tell him he loves him for being such a goddamn softy.

It's mixed signals, really, so Malcolm doesn't dwell on it for long.

"Fiiiiine," the precocious almost-five year old parrots his response from only a moment ago. The way she snuggles into her pillow tells him that she's probably not going to make it through the entire book, anyways.

She'll ask for book after book after book if he lets her, but even she has her limits, and, frankly, he's surprised she hasn't already fallen asleep. It was a busy day at the New York Aquarium followed by ice cream on the pier, and Malcolm thought for sure that she'd be completely zonked out before he even got her bathed and ready for bed. Instead, they're four books in and it's well past her bedtime.

He knows he ought to try a little harder to keep her on a schedule, but oftentimes it's just the two of them and there's no rush to get up early or get moving in the morning, so he supposes there's really no harm. It's only when he works the odd case with the team that he needs to take her to the sitter's, or to Nana's, if Jessica isn't too busy with board meetings.

And now that Gil is cutting back his hours, there's even less of a rush to get moving in the morning. Having Gil around more often has been a dream come true and Malcolm is happier with his life than he's ever been before.

There are still some nights, though, that a case will keep Gil at the precinct until late in the evening. Like tonight. And Malcolm doesn't begrudge him the work. He understands, probably better than anyone, just how much the work means, not only to Gil, but to the citizens of New York as well.

And Malcolm is more than happy to hold down the home front while Gil saves the world. More than happy to keep the bed warm for when Gil _does_ finally get home at the end of the night. 

Since Gil texted not long ago to say he'd be leaving work in the next half hour or so, Malcolm would like to get their daughter to bed so he and Gil can have some quality alone time when he finally arrives.

"If you give a mouse a cookie, he's going to ask for a glass of milk," Malcolm says quietly, deciding to pack away the outlandish and boisterous voices for the evening.

Analyn snuggles up next to his arm but before he has a chance to read the next sentence, he hears the tinkle of broken glass from downstairs, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a boot stepping over the crushed pieces.

There's someone in the house.

His entire body stiffens and Analyn picks up on his fear immediately, pulling herself close, her bottom lip trembling as she looks up with wide eyes. She opens her mouth, presumably to ask what's wrong, but Malcolm puts a finger to his lips, silently begging her to stay quiet. Thankfully, she does.

Malcolm makes a split second decision, knowing that protecting his girl is by far the highest priority. He gets up from the bed and gestures for her to follow, which she does immediately, obviously sensing the severity of the situation. He grabs his phone off the nightstand and dials Gil as he leads her to the little storage space at the side of her room, slipping his phone between his ear and shoulder as he opens the hidden compartment.

Because of the pitch of the roof, her room has an awkward space that they decided to turn into hidden storage, behind a set of low bookshelves that swing out to reveal the small space; a space stuffed with Gil's fishing gear, some sleeping bags, their Christmas decorations. Odds and ends that never really had a home before.

"Gil," Malcolm whispers as soon as the call connects, "Someone's in the house. I'm hiding Ana in the cubby room."

"Jesus," Gil huffs out and Malcolm can hear him radioing for units to be sent to the house. He doesn't have time to talk, but he also doesn't want to lose the connection with his husband, so he slips his phone, still on, into the pocket of his sweatpants.

Malcolm grabs the tablet and large, over-ear purple and orange headphones from on top of the dresser and kneels down to be eye-level with Analyn, placing the tablet on the ground and reaching out to lightly grasp her arms.

"Sweet Pea, you need to listen really carefully," Malcolm says in a hushed whisper, looking over his shoulder to the door as he speaks. "I need you to stay in here and watch your shows for a little, okay? Keep your headphones on the whole time and no matter what happens, you don't come out until me or Papa comes to get you. Do you understand?"

Analyn's eyes well up with tears and it breaks Malcolm's heart to see the fear on her face, but they don't have time for him to comfort her like he wants to. He doesn't know where the intruder is and he's not willing to risk her life.

"Everything is going to be fine," Malcolm says as he lifts her up and places her on Gil's tacklebox, then pulls up the most recent movie she was watching — Mulan — and sets the tablet on her lap. "No matter what you hear, you don't come out, okay?"

She sniffles as a few tears escape and trail down her cheeks but, like the brave little girl Malcolm has always known her to be, she nods her head and whispers, "Okay."

Malcolm slides the headphones over her head and hits play on the screen, stopping to press a quick kiss to her forehead before pushing to his feet. He has to swallow down a sob as he swings the shelf closed, trapping his baby girl in the small, dark space. 

He ficks off the light as he leaves the room and quickly but silently moves to his bedroom. There's a gun safe in the closet, of course, a secure place for Gil to keep not only his NYPD issued sidearm but also his personal revolver. Malcolm's never been a fan of guns but right now he's more than happy to get his hands on one.

He'll do whatever it takes to keep his daughter safe.

It nearly kills him to slowly — _so slowly_ — pull the closet doors open, but he knows it's the only way to avoid the creak of the aged doors. He's opened them enough times while Gil is still asleep on a weekend to know just how to avoid the scraping squawk of the damn bi-fold doors, and he kicks himself for not having just gone ahead and renovated the closet like he wanted to when he first moved in with Gil all those years ago.

He opens them just enough to access the safe and has punched in the first three digits of the code when he hears a snicker behind him.

"Lemme guess," a familiar voice rasps from the chair in the corner of his room. He'd been so intent on getting to the safe, and so unwilling to draw attention to himself by turning on a light, that he didn't even notice the presence of another person in his room. "Big man FBI profiler is going for his gun? Not such a hero without a pistol in your hand, huh?"

Malcolm freezes as soon as the man begins to speak, heart leaping into his throat even as his mind flips into overdrive to find a way out, to figure out what the intruder wants, to pinpoint where he knows that voice from.

"Push another button and I spray your brains all over that row of fancy-ass suits you got there," the man says and, even without being able to read his facial expressions, Malcolm doesn't doubt the sincerity of the statement. "Turn around. Keep your hand where I can see 'em."

Malcolm takes a calming breath and raises his hands to shoulder height, spinning slowly to face the intruder.

His heart plummets as he sees the man. Even by just the dim light of the streetlights below, Malcolm knows exactly who he is.

Nearly a decade ago, the same man had sworn he'd get his revenge on Malcolm.

It looks like he's finally making good on that promise.

"Garrison." Malcolm's voice sounds far calmer than he feels. He wants to vomit. He knows this man won't hesitate to kill Analyn or Gil if given the opportunity, just to watch Malcolm suffer. "I, uh, I didn't realize you were out."

"Yep. Overcrowded prisons are a bitch," Garrison says as he pushes to his feet, and Malcolm's eyes track down to the gun in Garrison's hand. Malcolm knows damn well that Garrison isn't just carrying it for purposes of intimidation. "Some good behaviour and a recommendation from the warden and, well, the rest is history."

Garrison meanders towards Malcolm without a care in the world. Malcolm, meanwhile, uses every ounce of willpower in his body to keep his eyes from darting to the doorway, terrified that Analyn is going to leave her hiding spot and come looking for him.

"That's...great, right?" Malcolm tries, knowing it's futile. "A fresh start."

"Yeah, it's real good," Garrison says, stopping in front of Malcolm. "I thought I'd have to wait another fifteen years or so to pay you back for what you did. But here we are."

It's not that Malcolm doesn’t see it coming, but it happens so fast that he can't move quickly enough to stop it. Garrison raises his right arm across his body and then brings the butt of the gun down hard across Malcolm's cheekbone.

Malcolm's vision explodes in a spray of blinding lights and he barely manages to catch himself on the shelf behind him, keeping from falling to the ground.

He uses the shelf to haul himself upright, blinking away the fog in his head, knowing he needs to keep his wits about him. "Garrison, you have the opportunity right now to walk away. To live the rest of your life a free man." Malcolm brings the tips of his fingers to his face and hisses when he feels the cut that marrs his cheek. It's bleeding quite a lot, but he has bigger concerns right now. "If you leave now, I won't even come looking for you, we can pretend this never even happened."

It's a long shot, he knows, but he has to try.

When the butt of the gun slams down across his already aching cheek Malcolm can't keep himself from tumbling to the ground. His head spins and his cheek throbs and still he pushes to his feet, because his little girl, his sweet pea, is sitting in a dark closet right now, waiting for him to come and get her, and he'll be damned if he just stays down and takes what this fucker is dishing out.

He gets his feet under him and shoves himself up, hard and fast, aiming his fist for Garrison's jaw. Unfortunately, Garrison seems to be expecting it and he only lands a glancing blow before Garrison's fist makes contact with his solar plexus, punching the air from his lungs with the powerful hit.

Malcolm is well aware he's running out of time. He ignores the ache in his chest and throws himself at Garrison, fists swinging. He lands some solid hits, but he's already injured and Garrison has a few inches and quite a few pounds on Malcolm.

It's over almost before it starts.

Garrison aims for the side of his face that's already bleeding and throbbing, two quick jabs that knock Malcolm back to the ground and leaves his vision fuzzy around the edges.

As soon as he's down, Garrison pulls a zip-tie from his pocket and jerks Malcolm's hands behind his back while he's still stunned and trying to get his bearings, then nearly dislocates both of his shoulders by yanking him up by his bound wrists.

"You sure you wanna keep struggling, Agent Bright?" Garrison asks and Malcolm can hear the smirk in his words. He spins Malcolm to face him and then slams him back against the wall, crushing his arms behind his back with the force. "I'm betting that partner of yours is gonna be home soon. Wouldn't want him to get caught up in the middle of this, would you?"

Malcolm bites back the groan that's trying to break free, the hurts of his body stacking up in quick succession, but he realizes that Garrison is right. Gil will be home soon, and more than likely, patrol cars are on the way. All he has to do is stall for a little more time.

But then Garrison wraps a hand around his throat and pushes him even harder against the wall. "So here's your options, Agent Bright," Garrison spits, scorn dripping from the title. "You and me can take a little trip together, right now, or I can leave you bleeding on the floor here and go looking for your little girl, instead."

Even if Malcolm was able to breathe, the words would've stolen the air from his lungs. He'd been holding out hope that Garrison didn't know about Analyn, and his stomach twists into a million knots at the threat to her safety.

There isn't even a question.

It must be written clearly on his face because Garrison smiles, his split lip dribbling blood down his chin as the skin pulls taut. "Yeah, I thought so. I've been watching you for a couple of days. Quite the doting daddy, by the looks of it."

Malcolm squirms against the tight hold on his neck, but with his hands bound behind his back, the struggle is futile. His head is starting to spin, a feeling of pins and needles washing over him as his vision begins to blur, and he realizes that Garrison is going to choke him until he passes out, so he can take him from the house without a fight.

He offers a prayer that Garrison is in enough of a rush that he doesn’t bother searching for Analyn, that he takes Malcolm and drives them far, far away, where Gil and Analyn will be safe from whatever twisted plan Garrison's been cooking up for the last ten years.

His last thought before the darkness claims him is that he hopes Gil can forgive him for leaving them alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Gil is already on his way home when his phone rings, Bright's name and a photo of him and Analyn from a recent trip to the Hamptons lighting up the screen. His lips pull into a soft smile at the picture of his family and he thumbs the answer button, throwing it on speakerphone.

"Hey kid," Gil says softly. It's been a hectic few days and he's missed being with Malcolm and Ana. He's already grown accustomed to the extra time he's been spending with them as he eases his way towards retirement, so it's harder than usual when a case pulls him away for days at a time like this one has. 

"Gil," Malcolm's terrified whisper floats through the speaker and Gil is immediately on high alert, "Someone's in the house. I'm hiding Ana in the cubby room."

The 'cubby room' is what Analyn calls the storage space behind the built in bookshelves in her room, and if Malcolm is hiding her in there then he must have a really good reason to be afraid.

"Jesus," he breathes, then reaches immediately for the police radio, calling for units to their house, feeling bile rise in his throat as he provides his own goddamn address to dispatch. 

"Bright? Bright, what's happening?" Gil tries to keep his voice level, tries to keep his foot from slamming the pedal all the way to the floor, tries to keep his white-knuckled grip from breaking the damn steering wheel as the plastic groans beneath his fingers.

There's muffled words coming through the phone, and Gil realizes Malcolm must've put his phone in his pocket to free his hands. He can't hear anything from Ana, her tiny voice too small to carry through the speaker, but he hears Malcolm tell their daughter to stay put until him or Papa comes to get her and his heart and stomach both twist furiously at the words.

His husband and daughter are in danger and he's fucking helpless, stuck in his car battling the goddamn traffic. He weaves in and out of the omnipresent gridlock, far faster than what's considered safe, even by NYPD standards, blowing through red lights and even jumping the curb a time or two to get around the worst of the back-ups.

"Bright, talk to me," Gil tries again. It's hardly more than a whisper and he doesn't even expect Malcolm to answer, but he's terrified and alone and his family is trapped in the house with an intruder and he doesn’t know what else to do.

And then he hears a muffled voice. A man's voice. And it's not Malcolm's.

He resists the urge to scream and threaten to rip the man apart limb by fucking limb if he even thinks about touching a hair on Malcolm or Ana's heads. 

Instead, he listens.

He holds his breath and strains to hear over the sound of his racing heart as the man threatens to blow Malcolm's brains out and then tells him to turn around.

Gil nearly collides with a cab as he waits for the inevitable gunshot.

Rather than the loud bang, though, he hears Malcolm's steady voice.

"Garrison."

Gil mutes his phone and radios dispatch again. Tells them to get a hold of JT Tarmel and Dani Powell with Major Crimes and have them look up anyone in Malcolm Bright's past, first or last name Garrison.

This is so much worse than a run-of-the-mill intruder. This is someone who knows Malcolm. Who _targeted_ Malcolm. And while he trusts his husband implicitly, he also knows that the man will sacrifice himself in a heartbeat to protect their daughter, and he's terrified as to what's about to happen.

He focuses his attention on the call, sparing only half a mind for the road, trusting that he'll get there from muscle memory alone and praying that everyone gets the fuck out of his way.

He hears the scuffle, hears Malcolm try to negotiate with the man, hears what sounds like a full on fist fight and he hopes against hope that Malcolm will reign victorious in the battle, but his delusions are shattered when he hears Malcolm grunt and cry out, then hears the fucker threaten Gil in order to keep Malcolm in line.

"I'm betting that partner of yours is gonna be home soon. Wouldn't want him to get caught up in the middle of this, would you?" The voice says, and Gil damn near growls.

The thing is, he knows a threat like that will work to keep Malcolm compliant. He knows that if it comes down to protecting Gil or himself, Malcolm will choose Gil. Every. Single. Time.

In his rage, he almost misses the choking sounds that come muffled through the speaker, and by the time he realizes what they are, Garrison is delivering his final threat. "I can leave you bleeding on the floor here and go looking for your little girl, instead."

Gil slams a hand down on the dashboard and lets the howl that's been building in his chest since he picked up the phone break free.

He's going to kill this fucker when he gets his hands on him.

After that, there's no more words, though Gil can clearly hear movement through the line, followed by what sounds nauseatingly like a car trunk closing. His suspicions are confirmed when he hears an engine roar to life and the constant thrum of the motor.

It feels like his soul is being torn apart. His husband is being stolen away from him and there's nothing he can do. Not only does he not know where Malcolm's being taken, but he _needs_ to go home, to find their daughter and make sure she's safe. Malcolm may have hidden her away, but Gil can't know for sure that this Garrison person didn't find her, didn't take her, too. Didn't hurt her.

The road begins to blur at the thought, tears welling in his eyes at the idea of his baby in the hands of some psycho. His heart feels like it's stopped beating all together until he forces himself to take a gasping breath and settle down. 

He's no good to either of them like this.

He gets a hold of Dani on the radio (she hadn't left the precinct yet) and has her get a trace started on Malcolm's phone, praying to God that they get a hit, a lead to follow that will help them find Malcolm before it's too late. As he pulls up in front of the house, though, he drops the radio mid-sentence, and rushes from the car, nearly tripping over himself as he hurries to Ana's room. 

He pauses in front of the bookshelves for just a moment terrified of what he might find — or not find — behind the hidden doors, then takes a deep breath and swings them open.

Inside, Analyn is sitting on his tackle box with her big headphones covering her ears, crying quietly as she hugs her arms tight around her body.

Gil doesn't even know which of them breaks down first.

Analyn's face crumples as soon as she looks up and sees her papa, letting her tablet tumble to the floor as she stretches her arms out to Gil, sobs racking her tiny body the minute she sees him.

"Oh, Sweet Pea," Gil chokes out as he scoops her up into his arms, his own chest hitching as he pulls her close and holds her like he's never going to let her go.

He walks them over to her bed, settling her in his lap as she sobs into his chest. Loosening his hold enough that he can rub soothing circles on her back, trying to get her to calm down. 

"Shhh, it's okay, Sweet Pea. Papa's here now," Gil says, forcing his own breaths to come out a little slower, a little steadier, in an effort to let his own calm sink into her.

"Wh-where's D-daddy?" Analyn asks around the shuddering breaths that she's only barely keeping under control.

"Don't you worry about Daddy," Gil says, dropping a soft kiss to the top of her head while pushing himself to his feet. She wraps her arms tight around his neck and buries her face in the hollow of his throat as they walk down to the front door to meet the patrol cars that pull up in front of the house, casting the street into a lurid splash of flashing red and blue lights.

He leads them in and allows them to start processing the scene, checking his phone every few seconds to see if anything besides the whir of the motor is coming through. A part of him wants to call out to Malcolm, to make sure his husband is okay, but he can't risk alerting his captor to the presence of his phone. 

It might be the only way they can find him.

So he uses one of the officer's phones to make his calls, keeping the line open with Malcolm and praying nothing happens while Analyn is still clinging to him like her world will end if she lets go. He calls Dani first, makes sure she has all the information she needs to look into what's happening and ensure someone is trying to trace Malcolm's cell phone. Apparently JT has already made it back to the station as well (he wasn't far when Dani called to fill him in, having left at the same time as Gil) and both of them are running down every lead they can.

"Thank you, Powell," Gil says sincerely, now more than ever appreciating the capable and loyal team he's been blessed with. "I'm gonna take Analyn to Jessica's and fill her in and then I'll be in."

"We're gonna find him, boss," Dani says by way of goodbye, and Gil hopes that she's right. He can't entertain any other options right now.

"We're goin' to Nana's?" Analyn's small voice floats up, muffled where it's still pressed against his skin. The crying has calmed a little but her breath is still stuttered and catching in her chest and Gil knows that it won't take much to set her off again. He gives her back a gentle rub before he answers. 

"Yeah, Sweet Pea, you're going to go stay with Nana for a little so I can go help Daddy, okay?" Gil says quietly. She knows there's something wrong, and he doesn't want to lie to her, but he also doesn't want to scare her.

"Is Daddy gonna be okay?" Her voice trembles and becomes impossibly smaller as she asks, and Gil wipes away a few of his own tears before he can work up the nerve to answer.

"Your daddy is the smartest and bravest man I know, Ana. And there's nothing in the world that he wants more than to come home and see you," Gil says, carefully sidestepping the question. He'll move heaven and earth to get his husband back, but he can't be sure how this is going to end and he's not willing to make a promise to his daughter that he can't keep.

Without ever putting Analyn down, Gil goes and finds his old Bluetooth earpiece and syncs it to his phone so he can hear the continued sound of the car as it moves through the city, waiting and praying for Bright's voice to let him know he's okay. He also packs up a bag for Analyn with a few changes of clothes, her tablet and her favourite stuffed animal before leaving his house — the _crime scene_ — in the hands of the NYPD and ESU teams that are flooding in and out, collecting evidence and searching for clues.

Analyn cries most of the way there, and it breaks Gil's heart that he needs to keep her in her carseat and can't just wrap her up in his arms and keep her safe from the rest of the world. Fortunately, she cries herself asleep eventually, Gil's calming voice providing her with enough reassurance that she finally gives in to the exhaustion and falls into a deep and dreamless sleep, and soon enough they're pulling up in front of the Milton family home.

With her bag over his shoulder, Gil carefully maneuvers Analyn from the carseat when they arrive at Jessica's, holding her tight as he walks up the front steps and rings the bell. He's surprised when Jessica answers the door, but her face drops as soon as she sees him, her hand flying to her mouth.

"What happened," she asks quietly and Gil offers a silent thanks that she's not in danger of waking Analyn.

"Can I put her to bed first, then we'll talk?" Gil's voice sounds tired and strained, even to his own ears. At Jessica's nod, he takes Analyn to the bedroom that Jessica had done up especially for her (lavish and ridiculous and entirely over the top, because Jessica spoils Ana worse than even Bright). In minutes, he meets her in the sitting room, sitting next to her and taking her hand.

The awkwardness of their past relationship in contrast to his marriage to her son has long since past, and she leans into him, bracing herself for bad news.

"Malcolm's been taken," Gil cuts to the chase. He needs to get back to the precinct, to start looking for Malcolm now that he knows Analyn is safe. He pushes on before Jessica can ask. "It only just happened and I don't have much information. I need to get to the precinct to start looking for him. Can you watch Ana until I get him back?"

"Of course," Jessica says with a firm nod and he can practically see her shoring up her strength in order to be there for Analyn. Gil couldn't possibly ask for a better nana for his little girl, and he feels completely confident leaving Ana with her. "Go. Find my son."

Gil gives her hand a squeeze and pushes to his feet, ready to start the search. He stops at the entranceway to the room, asking, "I don't suppose Malcolm ever mentioned anyone named Garrison before?"

Jess thinks about it before shaking her head. "No. I'm sorry. Is that who has him?"

"Maybe," Gil says, scrubbing a hand over his face, "but I'm gonna get him back."

"I know you will," Jessica says with a conviction that surprises Gil just a little.

He's anxious to get to the station, but as he's walking out to the car, the ubiquitous humming in his ear finally stops, and Gil's footsteps falter, bringing him to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk as he strains to listen for any clues.

He hears what sounds like the trunk popping, hears a grunt and a whole lot of rustling that makes him think Malcolm is being lifted or shifted, all of which causes a small groan that Gil would recognize anywhere as belonging to his husband. 

The rustling continues for a minute or two and then he hears a much louder groan that definitely has a ring of pain to it, followed by Malcolm calling out for him. Gil fumbles to get his phone from his pocket, intending to unmute, to call out and let Malcolm know that he's there, that he's coming for him, that he's not alone.

But then everything gets suddenly louder before there's a muttered, "Shit," and the line goes dead.


	3. Chapter 3

There are flashes of light, and remembrances of darkness, but Malcolm can't seem to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time and everything takes on a sort of slow-motion, surreal cast when he does, like he's asleep, only...not.

He drifts in and out and recognizes the fuzzy feeling, somewhere in the back of his mind, as being drug induced, but every time he makes that discovery he passes back into the blackness (the blackness that's darker than the small, dark place he wakes up into), and every time he wakes up it's like starting from scratch as he tries to work out what's happening.

It's not until the lid pops open that it dawns on Malcolm that he's in a trunk. It takes longer than it should for him to piece together that it's probably not a good thing and by that point he's being hauled out and tossed over a broad shoulder. A muted groan spills from his lips when his stomach collides with bone, driving the air from his lungs.

He wants to struggle, tries to even, at least at first, but his body is uncooperative and his head is swimming and feels like it's filled with cotton and all he can seem to manage is a weak groan and a feeble twitch of his fingers before he loses the thread of what's happening and what he's trying to do all over again.

After a short walk that Malcolm thinks he may have slept through a portion of, he's thrown to the ground without ceremony. He groans loudly as he hits the dirt, the impact jolting through his bones and making his teeth rattle. He can't quite reconcile the pain in his body with the mess of cotton in his brain and he does what he always does when he's scared or confused (and right now, he's both).

"Gil." 

At first, he thinks the hands that land on him must be his husband's and a profound relief floods his body, but he quickly discovers that they're too rough, too unkind to be Gil's, and he tries to flinch away. His body is heavier than it should be, though, and the hands ignore his discomfort, patting him down and stopping as they reach his pocket.

Malcolm suddenly remembers his phone was in there. He'd been talking to Gil after he heard someone break into their home.

And then he remembers everything. 

Analyn. He'd closed his little girl in a small, dark space and he never went back for her. A small whimper escapes his lips as he imagines just how frightened she must be and he prays that Gil made it home to get her out already.

He tries to reach for his phone but the ruthless hands just smack him away. The adrenaline that pumps through his system, though, is enough to get him to pry his eyelids open.

Just in time to see Garrison thumb off his phone with a curse.

"Nice try, Agent Bright," Garrison scoffs and tucks the phone in his pocket, then turns back to...whatever he was doing. Malcolm's having trouble staying awake and can't quite figure out why that is, but then Garrison is kneeling next to him, prying his jaw open and slipping something beneath his tongue.

He has the presence of mind to realize it's a sublingual sedative of some kind and tries to spit it out, but Garrison slams his jaw shut and holds it closed with one strong hand that smells and tastes like damp earth as it passes over his lips.

"Take a nap, Agent. You're going to want to be well-rested for what's coming." The smile in Garrison's voice makes Malcolm's skin crawl but he's out before he can really put much thought into what's about to happen to him. His descent into unconsciousness is accompanied by a final thought of his husband and daughter, praying they'll be okay, that they'll find solace together and move past his death as painlessly as possible.

There's no way of knowing how long he's out for, but he's honestly a little surprised to wake up at all. He'd assumed that, despite his MO, Garrison was going to kill him, dispose of his body somewhere it would never be discovered. Instead he wakes up in complete and utter darkness, lying flat on his back on a painfully hard surface.

It takes a moment for him to gain control of his body, and when he does, it feels clumsy and heavy and doesn't seem to obey his commands exactly how he's expecting it to. His hand slides ungracefully from his side up his body until it lands on his forehead, rubbing halting circles into the skin and the muscles beneath. 

His head is pounding, a dull throbbing that reverberates through his skull and leaves him feeling queasy and off-center as he waits to recapture his equilibrium. He's been sedated enough times in his life to recognize the after-effects, and he knows that the best thing he can do is stay still and breathe through it until it passes.

So he focuses on his breathing, inhaling for a five count and then exhaling for the same, and it isn't long before the nausea fades away and his head starts to clear.

He's still lying motionless when his mind begins to process his surroundings. The air is stuffy, an uncomfortable combination of stale and musty with the distinct scent of dirt behind it all, and before he's even had a chance to consider the reason for it, the small hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end, warning him that something is wrong.

The sounds hit next. Or rather, they don't. The space is completely silent outside of his purposefully slow breaths, and those echo back to him so quickly that he knows exactly what he's going to find as he reaches a shaking hand directly above him.

"No, no, no," Malcolm whispers, his heart jackhammering in his chest. He has to force his hand to leave his forehead and reach up slowly, _so very slowly_ , dreading exactly what he's about to encounter. Every inch that his shaking hand moves through the air feels like an eternity, but it's only maybe a foot before his worst fears are confirmed.

His hand hits wood — rough, sturdy and threatening to give him slivers as he slides his fingers along the grainy board. And he doesn't need any confirmation beyond that to know exactly where he is.

A coffin. Hand crafted with care, though deliberately left unfinished on the inside.

It's the same way Garrison killed the two victims to which Malcolm was able to tie him.

The same way, Malcolm suspects, he killed at least seventeen additional victims; missing persons that fit perfectly within Garrison's victimology and matched up with the timelines of where Garrison was traveling when they disappeared without a trace.

Their bodies were never found.

The two bodies they _did_ manage to recover — when a flash flood tore through a valley in Montana and washed up two recently buried coffins that a local farmer stumbled across as the waters receded — had identical causes of death. 

Asphyxiation.

And the wounds on their hands — scratches and scrapes that bled profusely, chipped and missing fingernails — all spoke to the fact that they'd been buried alive in the coffins in which they were discovered.

Even back then, more than a decade ago when Malcolm was following Garrison's trail, Malcolm considered those deaths some of the worst he could imagine. Alone in the dark, knowing what was going to happen, fighting futilely to break free through the thick wood. He imagined the panic was nearly as suffocating as the dwindling oxygen supply. 

Malcolm's heart slams against his ribs as he realizes that he's Garrison's next victim, that he's been buried alive like all those victims he felt so much compassion for all those years ago.

That he's never going to see Analyn and Gil again.

It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to lash out at the lid and scream into oblivion, but he knows he needs to keep his cool and ration his oxygen intake. His entire body shakes, a tremor that rocks him from head to toe as he tries to suppress the panic that builds and grows inside of him, making it especially challenging to run his hands over the boards and around the edges of the coffin that surrounds him, searching for a way out that he already knows doesn't exist. 

As his hands roam the rough wooden walls that surround him on every side, they bump up against something small. Plastic. He wraps his hand around it and his heart nearly stops as he realizes it's a phone. Not his, but that hardly even matters. The hope that floods into his system around the fear that's still streaming through him is physically painful and he nearly drops the phone as he tries to bring it to his face.

The screen lights up like a supernova, blinding him after hours of darkness. He turns the screen away, letting it illuminate the small space while his pupils adjust accordingly. He's not sure if seeing where he is makes things better or worse.

The coffin was, indeed, crafted just for him, with approximately three inches above his head and below his feet, and even less on either side. Seeing it lit up in the blue tones of the phone screen just highlights how tiny the space really is.

Malcolm's never considered himself claustrophobic, per say, but he's also never been buried alive in a coffin that's not a whole lot bigger than he is. His breath turns to shallow pants as he grasps just how dire the situation is, but it isn't until the phone clatters to the bottom of the box that he realizes the high-pitched noise that's accompanying his rapid breaths is coming from him as well, a terrified whimper that escapes with every exhale.

He tries to focus on slowing his respiration but his treacherous mind is filling with images of being stuffed in his father's trunk, just like the girl in the box. It's a nightmare come to life, bleeding through into the nightmare he's currently living and his vision is getting splotchy as his heart tries to crack through his ribs, until suddenly a new vision floats behind his eyes.

Analyn running to Gil on the beach during their last vacation, a peal of laughter escaping her lips as he scoops her up and spins her around, setting her down carefully as the tide rolls in, the waves lapping up her chubby little legs. The smiles on their faces made Malcolm's heart swell with love as he watched them play and now…

Now the memory helps him get his breathing under control. Helps to calm his racing heart.

It gives him a reason to focus.

His hand fumbles to find the phone again, long since gone dark as the screen timed out. It's a couple inches below his fingers, so he needs to shimmy down to grab hold of it once again.

When he brings it back up, the first thing he does is adjust the brightness. Not only does it make it easier to look at the screen, but he knows it will help to conserve the limited battery power that he's been gifted. 

_12%_

The little numbers over the battery symbol seem to mock him, but he knows he's lucky to even have that. No phones were recovered with the bodies of the two previous victims. He's not sure what's changed at first, but then he notices an open memo on the phone and swipes it open.

_Agent Bright,_

_If you happen to wake up before you run out of oxygen, I just wanted you to know that I'm going after your partner and beautiful little girl next. So you don't need to worry, they'll be joining you soon enough._

_Maybe I'll even bury them next to you._

_Thought you might want to say goodbye. Maybe even warn them. It'll make the game a little more high stakes if I have to hunt them down. Don't worry, though. I'm a patient man. If I have to, I can wait years until they let their guards down and I can finally get to them._

_See you in hell, Agent._

Malcolm nearly vomits. He needs to warn Gil.

He thumbs over to the keypad but needs to start over three separate times as his shaking hands press the wrong numbers over and over. When Gil's number finally lights up the screen, he presses the call button and holds his breath as he prays for a connection.

The phone rings three times before it's finally picked up, and Malcolm can't contain the sob that escapes as Gil's worried voice floats through the speaker.

"Hello?"

Malcolm doesn't think he's ever heard that degree of fear in his husband's voice and he never wants to hear it again.

"Gil," Malcolm cries, slamming his eyes shut against the tears that start to stream down the sides of his face.

"Sweetheart? Where are you? Are you hurt?" The words come so fast that Malcolm needs a moment to process them, but even then, he doesn't bother answering, because that's not what matters.

"Garrison Hughes. He's coming for you and Ana," Malcolm forces out and then slaps a hand over his mouth to try and smother the whimper that follows the words.

There's a flurry of activity across the line but before Gil has a chance to answer, Malcolm uncovers his mouth and pleads for the only thing that matters.

"Keep her safe," Malcolm whispers. The thought of something happening to his little girl is more than he can handle. And then, in case he never gets to speak to his husband again, he says the three words that somehow say so much and not nearly enough, "I love you."

And Malcolm decides that, if this is truly the end, that he's glad he was given the opportunity to say it one last time.


	4. Chapter 4

Standing outside the Milton mansion, listening to his husband groan and call out for him before the phone is discovered and the line disconnects, Gil thinks he may actually explode with the rage that washes through his veins, tightening around his heart and lungs, pooling in his stomach.

He allows himself just a moment to imagine exactly what he plans to do to Garrison when he finds him, and then he jogs to his car and starts the interminably long ride to the precinct.

Driving away from Ana, though, is like being ripped in half. Part of him wants to go back and hold his daughter, keep her safe and assure her that everything is alright, that monsters aren't real and that her daddy is going to be just fine. The other half of him is ready to tear the goddamn city to pieces to find his husband.

It takes nearly the whole ride for Gil to funnel the terror and fury into something productive, but by the time he's storming through the precinct doors, his focus has narrowed with a laser-like precision, ready to hunt down the man that's taken his husband and broken the sanctity of their home.

Ready to find Malcolm.

"What've we got so far?" Gil flies into the conference room, not even bothering to remove his jacket as he walks to the whiteboard, already set up with the miniscule amount of information they have. "Is this him?"

There's a photo on the board, a mugshot of a man that, even in the black and white still, looks dangerous and angry. Against his will, Gil immediately slots the man into the vision that's been playing in his head on an infinite loop, the scene that he imagined played out as Garrison confronted Malcolm in their bedroom. It somehow makes it so much worse to have a face to put to the voice. The voice that threatened to blow Malcolm's brains out, that threatened to hurt Gil and Ana in order to keep Malcolm compliant. 

"Yeah," JT sidles up next to Gil with his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Garrison Hughes, 43. Bright lead the team that arrested him for the murder of two men back when he was with the feds. Hughes was just released last month."

A brief write-up on Garrison is taped beneath the photo and Gil's eyes instinctively scan the words detailing his crimes and capture. The air vacates his lungs in a whoosh as he reads that Garrison buries his victims alive, and somehow he just _knows_ that's what the man has planned for Malcolm.

"Boss, we're gonna find him," Dani's voice comes unexpectedly from beside him. He didn't notice her walk up, focused as he was on the words, on the details of a previous crime scene that might just hold the key to Malcolm's whereabouts. She lays a comforting hand on his forearm and he takes the strength she's offering, nodding vacantly as he pulls himself together.

They have work to do.

The next couple hours are spent hunting down video surveillance and cell phone records, searching through Garrison's finances and movements since his release, attempting to track his actions since he arrived in New York nearly two weeks ago in hopes that they can pin down his current location. They know from the trace on Malcolm's phone that Garrison took him North on route 17, but they need to find where exactly they went from there.

Gil is in the middle of searching through traffic cam footage when his phone rings, an unknown number flashing on his screen. The trace is already set but it still feels like an eternity to wait for the technician's okay to answer the call. Gil uses the seconds to prepare himself to talk to the man who abducted Malcolm, who may have buried him alive.

"Hello?" The simple word is shakier than Gil would like. He'd wanted to contain the terror he was feeling, to make sure he didn't give Garrison any additional ammunition.

"Gil?"

Malcolm's voice breaks through the static of the line, sounding so small and helpless and full of fear that Gil's heart shatters into a million pieces.

"Sweetheart? Where are you? Are you hurt?" Gil hurries to ask, vaguely aware of the way JT guides him to the nearest seat before his legs give out beneath him, distantly feeling his body drop down hard onto the chair. He holds his breath waiting for the answer and, judging by the sudden silence in the room, so does everyone else.

When Malcolm warns that Garrison is coming for Gil and Ana, Gil looks up to Dani with unadulterated panic in his eyes, his heart leaping into his throat and cutting off his air. Dani is already pulling her phone from her pocket, though, sprinting from the room as she orders patrol cars to the Milton family home. He knows she'll rush there herself, as well; Ana is family and Gil is well aware that Dani would die to protect her, though he prays it never comes to that.

As Dani disappears from sight, he turns back to find JT quietly conversing with the tech running the trace, but Gil doesn't have the presence of mind to read anything from their expressions or body language. Although he trusts Dani to protect Ana, every instinct in his body is screaming at him to run to her, to keep her safe from harm. It's bad enough that Garrison came for Malcolm, Gil can't imagine losing his daughter to him, too.

His world feels like it's tilting on its axis and he's barely holding on, but then Malcolm is speaking again and Gil's entire focus snaps back to the cellphone in his hand. He knows Dani and Jess will protect Analyn. He needs to concentrate on finding Malcolm.

"Keep her safe." The plea is so quiet that Gil barely hears it over the sound of the plastic phone case creaking in his grip. "I love you."

"Bright. Sweetheart," Gil manages to whisper after swallowing around the lump that's forming in his throat. "I love you and I am coming for you. Okay? So I need you to tell me everything you can about what happened and where you are."

There's a moment of near silence before Malcolm answers, broken only by a quiet sniffle on the other end of the line. When Malcolm finally speaks, though, there's a steely determination forming in his voice.

"I'm, um. I'm in a coffin," Malcolm says and Gil scrubs a hand over his face at the confirmation of his worst fear. "It's his MO. I arrested Garrison—"

"Yeah, bro, we know," JT interrupts gently, obviously understanding time is of the essence. "You did good calling Gil. What can you tell us about where you are? Where he took you?"

The sound of Malcolm sucking in a calming breath breaks through the speaker. "I don't know. He drugged me," Malcolm says quietly. "I don't know how I got here or where _here_ is."

"Are you hurt?" Gil asks again, leaning into the phone that's cradled in his hands. He knows they need to work on winnowing down possible locations for where he might be buried, but right now Gil needs to know that Malcolm isn't bleeding out or broken into irreparable pieces.

"I'm fine," Malcolm responds, just a little too quickly for Gil to believe. 

"Kid…" Gil warns. Usually he wouldn't call Malcolm out on his less-than-truthful answers, at least not in front of the team, but now's not the time for downplaying his injuries. They need to know exactly what they're dealing with.

"Just some cuts and bruises, Gil. I promise." Malcolm says it so earnestly that Gil doesn't doubt the truth of the statement. It lets him breathe just a tiny bit easier, knowing that when they get Malcolm back — not _if_ but _when_ — he'll be in one piece.

"Okay, sweetheart, we're tracing the call now and I'm coming for you," Gil says, looking over to JT and the tech, hoping that they've already managed to pull up a location, but JT just gestures for him to keep talking. "Is there anything in the—" Gil stops himself, unable to say the word out loud, unwilling to let his mind form the image of his husband trapped in a goddamn coffin. "Anything in there with you? Something you can use to get out?"

"I don't think so," Malcolm says quietly. "I felt around as best I could and only found the phone. There's um, there's not a lot of room to move around to feel near my feet though."

There's a tightness in Gil's chest, a crushing pain that makes it hard to breathe at the note of panic in Malcolm's voice as he purposely leaves out the details of exactly how small the space is. The fact that Gil can't just pull him out of that box and hold him tight, that he's sitting in the precinct while his husband is trapped and afraid and alone, leaves him drowning in a devastating helplessness that fucking _hurts_.

He's never going to let Malcolm out of his sight after this.

"Right. Then you just need to hang tight and stay calm until I can come get you, okay?" Gil tries his best to stay positive, to keep calm. For Malcolm. 

"Boss, we got a location. Sort of," JT says with a scowl. At Gil's questioning glance, JT hurries to explain. "Looks like he's in Harriman State Park, but the best we can narrow it down is that he's somewhere in or near Beaver Pond Campground."

"Shit." The quiet curse from Malcolm draws Gil's attention immediately. "That's, um, that's a pretty big area."

"It's okay, bro, because we have a pretty damn good profiler working the case," JT says, the lightness of the words offset by the worry in his voice. "So tell us about Garrison. Where would he take a victim? How can we find him? Find you?"

"Right," Malcolm says, slipping easily into the headspace he occupies when he's profiling a suspect. "Garrison is a creature of habit. He's going to stick to what he knows. So I'll be far away from any trail, from any chance of accidental discovery. You can rule out anything within a mile of a road, trail, or campsite."

And that's his boy, right there, Gil thinks. Working the case, building a profile even when _he's_ the victim.

"He's also impatient. If I was right about the suspected victims back before I arrested him, it means there was only a week or two between abductions. Enough time for him to find his next victim and build a coffin for them." The longer Malcolm speaks, the calmer he sounds and Gil realizes that _this_ is what's going to keep him centered until Gil can get there. "After being locked up so long, that cooling off period will probably be even shorter. He's going to make a move soon, but there's no way of knowing if it will be against Gil and Ana or someone else who closer matches his victim profile."

"Okay kid," Gil pushes to his feet, ready to start the drive out to Harriman State Park. "We're coming for you now. Dani and a couple unis are at Jess's. He's not getting anywhere near Ana, so don't you even worry about that."

"Thank God," Malcolm breathes, the relief a palpable presence in the room.

"I want you to stay on the line with me, kid," Gil says, pulling his Bluetooth earpiece back out of his pocket, getting it ready to slide in his ear, but Malcolm stops him mid-movement.

"I can't," he whispers. "Gil, the battery is running low. So is the air."

Gil drops his hands to the table, supporting himself as his body threatens to give out at the statement.

He doesn't know what to say.

"Okay, bro," JT says after only a moment, eyeing Gil with a sympathy that he just can't handle right now. "Hang up and save your battery. But you remember we're on our way, yeah? And you hang in there. I'm not making the trip out there for nothing."

The small chuckle from Malcolm is obviously what JT was aiming for and Gil even feels his own lips tick up at the corners at the sound. 

Malcolm's laugh is one of his favourite sounds in the world.

"Sure thing, Jacob Thomas," Malcolm says, a smile evident in the words.

"Not even close." JT pushes to his feet and gives Gil a terse nod. He heads out of the conference room straight to his desk, grabbing his coat and then heading down the hall. Gil doesn't doubt for a second that everything will be arranged by the time Malcolm and Gil end their call.

"I love you, Malcolm," Gil says, pouring all of his devotion and affection into the words. "Don't you dare give up."

"I love you, too," Malcolm says. "Be safe. Garrison could be nearby. Watching. Waiting for you to let your guard down."

"Let him try," Gil practically growls. There are few things that would help alleviate the rage and helplessness that's boiling inside of him more than a face to face with Garrison Hughes.

"Gil, please," Malcolm pleads. "Don't underestimate him. Be safe. I need to come home to you and Ana or it's not worth coming home at all."

Gil blows out a calming breath before he answers. "I'll be careful. You just focus on breathing and leave the rest to me." 

He knows he needs to end the call, but the thought of losing this connection makes his blood run cold. As much as he's forcing himself to remain positive, part of him is worried that this is the last time he'll ever speak to his husband.

"Call if you think of anything that could help us find you, otherwise I'll check in when we get to the campground, okay?"

"Okay," Malcolm whispers. Gil can only imagine how awful it must be, knowing he needs to end the call and sink back into the darkness, back into the silence of the coffin he's trapped in.

"I'll be there soon. I promise."

The call disconnects after a quiet, "I love you," and Gil takes a moment to stare at the screen of his phone, wanting nothing more than to call him back, to listen to the sounds of his breathing as they drive the hour or so to the general area where he's been buried.

Instead, he tucks the phone back in his jacket and makes his way outside. 

JT is next to the car, shovels and flashlights in hand, just hanging up the phone as Gil hurries down the steps. 

"Park rangers are starting a search. Officers and search parties are heading out now," JT says, tossing the shovels in the trunk as soon as Gil pops it. "Dani checked in, Jessica and Ana are good. She's gonna stay put inside the house and keep two cars posted outside."

Gil and JT are both in the car and buckled up by the time JT finishes his update, and Gil jerks the car from the curb with a deafening squeal of the tires.

"We'll find him." JT raises his head long enough to look Gil in the eye as he says it, then promptly looks back down at his phone, sending and receiving updates as they drive, as Gil expects he will the whole ride out.

"Damn right we will," Gil growls as his fingers wrap tight around the wheel. He refuses to acknowledge any other alternative.


	5. Chapter 5

"I love you," Malcolm whispers one last time before he ends the call. He has to force himself to do it quickly or he'll let the call go on and on.

He's terrified to die alone.

There was a time, years ago — before he and Gil had gotten together, before they had Ana to complete their family — that he would have thought he deserved it. That being trapped in a box like the girl he didn't save when he was just a kid was a fitting end to a wasted life.

But now…

Now he knows better. Over the last several years, Gil has shown him that he's worth something. That he's loved. 

And now Malcolm has something to live for.

So he reluctantly turns the screen off, plunging himself into darkness once again. Now that he's no longer focusing on Gil, on working to protect his family and help the team to find him, he notices how much heavier the air seems. He's not sure if his mind is playing tricks on him or if he truly is running out of oxygen, but either way, his heart begins to beat frantically in his chest once again.

He knows it's going to take at least an hour for Gil to get out there, and even then, he needs to find the site where Malcolm's been buried. It's not going to happen quickly. 

And he's not entirely sure he's going to last that long.

Without Gil's voice to ground him, he has trouble keeping his mind from running worst case scenarios on a loop. He'd happily die here and now if it meant keeping Ana and Gil safe, but he knows Garrison won't leave them alone just because he's gone.

Which means he needs to fight to stay alive until Gil can find him so he can take Garrison down himself

He forces himself to focus on everything he knows about Garrison. Trying to work the profile and see if he can't glean any additional information from his previous interactions with the man. Focusing on that — replaying every moment of their interactions in his mind to search for any clues he may have missed — helps to keep him composed and still, which, in turn, keeps his breathing slow and shallow to consume less oxygen.

Even still, his limited air supply depletes faster than he'd hoped.

His breaths become less satisfying as time passes on, like there's not enough oxygen filling his lungs, even though he's breathing just as deeply as he was before.

Then he starts getting light-headed.

He's running out of time.

When the phone trills in his hand, breaking the crushing silence that's surrounding him, he's actually thankful for the hit of adrenaline that courses through his body and shakes the mental fog away, even if he knows it won't last.

He blinks at the screen as it blinds him once again, but immediately recognizes Gil's number and feels a surge of hope deep down, suffusing every cell of his body.

"Hello?" His voice comes out so much quieter, so much weaker, than he expected. He doesn't want to worry Gil, but there's not much he can do at this point. 

"Thank God." The hitch in Gil's words is like a gut punch to Malcolm who hates nothing more than seeing his husband worry about him. There have been far, far too many occasions for that since he came back to New York all those years ago, and he can admit that some of those instances were his own fault. 

This feels different somehow.

"Are you here?" Malcolm asks.

"Yeah, kid. We're at the campground," Gil nearly shouts over the rush of noise around him. "Search and rescue have been combing the woods for a while now, but haven't come across any sign of recently disturbed soil. JT and I are gonna join in now. How you holding up, sweetheart?"

The background noise fades and Malcolm can envision Gil walking away from the temporary base that search and rescue would have set up in order to hear Malcolm a little easier. It somehow makes being trapped in the coffin feel a little less lonely.

Or maybe it's just hearing Gil's voice.

"Not great," Malcolm confesses. He thumbs the phone onto speaker and drops it onto his chest, then lays his head back and lets his eyes flutter closed. "The air is getting a little thin in here."

The fact that he needs to stop midway through that sentence to suck in yet another unsatisfying breath is a testament to how true that statement really is.

"Bright, I need you to hold on. We're so close, sweetheart, you just need to give us a little more time," Gil pleads, as if Malcolm has any say in what's happening at all.

"Trying," Malcolm says sleepily, then suddenly remembers that he had something he needed to tell Gil. Something he remembered just before Gil called. "Garrison had mud caked on his boots. It hasn't rained in weeks, so it could mean he buried me near a source of water."

His head is spinning by the end of the statement, having used up too much of his precious oxygen at once.

"That's good. That's really good, sweetheart," Gil says, his breath coming out fast as he jogs back to the search and rescue command center and relays Malcolm's message to the team. "Okay, we're gonna focus on searching near the ponds and streams nearby, but that's going to take a bit of time. Can you stay on the line with me, sweetheart?

It feels like his limbs are twice their weight, but he forces his hand back to the phone and blinks his eyes open to squint at the screen. Even with the brightness turned down, it's blinding to his tired eyes. 

_8%_

"I don't think so," Malcolm says, hating the words as they leave his mouth. He wants Gil with him if this is going to be the end, but he also wants to conserve his battery power in case he hears movement outside and needs to call to tell Gil they're close. "Battery's at eight percent."

"Goddamn it," Gil curses under his breath and Malcolm knows he understands why they need to end the call.

"Gil, I need you to know—"

"Kid, don't," Gil begs, knowing the start of a goodbye when he hears one.

"Please Gil, just let me say this. You and Ana are the best thing that ever happened to me and I love you so much," Malcolm worries he's going to pass out soon if he keeps talking, but he presses on anyways. "Promise me you'll tell her that every day—"

"Malcolm, I'm gonna find you and you can tell her that yourself, you hear me?" Gil's voice breaks around the words and Malcolm wishes he could be there to hold his husband. To comfort him. 

"You tell her every day that her daddy loved her so much," Malcolm whispers. He needs to know that Analyn never has a single doubt about how much he loves her. Needs her to know that she was his entire world.

"Please, Malcolm. Just hang on a little longer."

"I'll try," Malcolm murmurs, "I love you."

"Love you too, kid," Gil says, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm gonna hang up now, but don't you dare fall asleep. Do you understand? You stay awake for me, okay?"

Malcolm thinks he must've passed out, just for a moment, because when he becomes aware of his surroundings, his phone is dark and Gil's warm voice is no longer filling the cold space.

He misses it.

So he's overwhelmingly relieved when the phone on his chest begins to ring once again. He doesn't even open his eyes this time, just feels for where he knows the answer icon is.

"Gil?" he whispers, feeling the way his lips tug up at the corners. He's still holding out hope that Gil will find him in time, but if he doesn't, if this is truly the end, at least he'll go out hearing the soothing tones of the man who changed his life in so many ways.

"Sorry to disappoint." The gruff voice floats through the speaker with a vicious glee that turns Malcolm's blood cold. "Honestly, I'm a little surprised you're still kicking. Pleased, though. I was hoping I'd get a chance to hear your last breath. Hear you plead for your life so you can go home to your man and your daughter."

"Fuck you," Malcolm hisses. He's sure as hell not going to give the man the satisfaction of hearing him beg. "They'll catch you. You won't get away with this."

"Kind of hard to charge me with murder if there's no body," Garrison laughs. "But you remember that from my trial, don't you? All those people I buried and you could only charge me for two."

He's not wrong. The DA wouldn't bring charges against Garrison for any of the other suspected seventeen victims. There wasn't enough evidence to tie Garrison to their disappearances, and without the bodies, no proof they were even dead.

"You were wrong, by the way," Garrison gloats. "It wasn't seventeen. It was twenty-eight. Twenty-eight victims that you never managed to get justice for. Not much of an agent, are you?"

Malcolm wasn't exactly breathing easy to begin with, but the confession steals the last of his breath away. Twenty-eight families out there, wondering where their loved ones are, wondering if they're ever going to come home. And Malcolm was unable to help them find closure.

"Where did you bury them," Malcolm asks when he manages to suck in a meager amount of oxygen.

"Oh, here and there," Garrison chuckles. "So much empty space in this country to hide a body. I'll make sure your man and your girl are never found, either."

"Don't you fucking touch them," Malcolm snarls, sounding more alert than he has since he first woke up in the coffin.

"That's cute," Garrison says, clearly amused by Malcolm's threat. "I'm just glad that you're gonna die knowing you couldn't protect them. You shoulda just let me be, Agent Bright. Their deaths are on you. But yours? Oh, yours is on me, and I intend to savour it."

Malcolm fumbles with his phone a moment before he manages to slam his thumb on the end button. He knows he can't talk Garrison out of it, can't plead for their lives. But he can at least deny him the satisfaction of witnessing his death.

The phone rings almost immediately and Malcolm checks the number to make sure it isn't Gil. 

It isn't.

And then it rings nonstop, eating up his battery with every call.

At 5% he makes a decision. He brings up the keypad and dials his mother's number. 

It's the middle of the night, but he knows she'll be awake. Knows that she's probably pacing the sitting room, waiting for word of his rescue while Dani sits nearby and tries to convince her to sit down.

"Hello?" The brisk greeting breaks his heart as the worry bleeds through the single word.

"Mom," Malcolm whispers.

"Oh my God," Jessica returns just as quietly. "Malcolm. Are you safe?"

He doesn't want to frighten her, but he also refuses to lie in case this is his last chance to speak to her.

"No," he says and presses on despite her broken gasp. "I, um. I think I might not be coming home."

He needs to take a break, to try and suck in some air so he doesn't faint before he can continue. 

"I want to tell you I love you. That I appreciate everything you did to try to help me after what happened with dad." The tiny space spins around him as his mother's quiet cries echo off the wooden walls. "I need to talk to Ana."

"Malcolm," Jessica manages, but Malcolm stops her protest with one whispered word.

"Please."

Tears stream hot and fast down the sides of his face as he listens to the click of his mother's heels as she heads to Ana's bedroom, and flow even faster as he hears Jessica wake his little girl up, her confusion clouded in a sleepy, "Nana?"

"Daddy's on the phone, baby," Jessica says. Malcolm can hear that she's smiling, trying to reassure her grandbaby that everything is okay, but he can also hear the suppressed cry that catches in her chest as she speaks.

"Daddy?" Ana asks and Malcolm knows that she's close to tears herself.

"Hi, Sweet Pea," Malcolm murmurs, trying to control the sobs that are making his chest heave. There are already black spots dancing in his vision and he'll be damned if he dies before he tells Ana he loves her. "I'm sorry to wake you so late."

"Where are you?" she sniffles. "Are you coming to Nana's?"

"I don't think so, Sweet Pea. I'm sorry." His chest heaves as he tries to suck in the last of the oxygen in the coffin. "I just wanted to tell you I love you so much."

"To the moon and back?" she asks quietly.

"To the moon and back," he smiles. 

God, he's going to miss her.

"Daddy?" she whispers, and it sounds like she has her hand covering the phone the way she does when she's trying to tell her papa a secret when he's at work and she's home with Malcolm. "Nana's crying."

"Yeah, Sweet Pea, I know," Malcolm swallows hard around the lump in his throat. "When we get off the phone, I need you to go give Nana the biggest of hugs, okay?"

"Okay, daddy," Ana says just before she starts to cry in earnest.

Malcolm tries to reassure her, to tell her that everything is going to be just fine, but his world is fading to black and he barely has enough time to end the call (he sure as hell doesn't want her hearing him suffocate to death) before the darkness overwhelms him.

His final thoughts are of his husband and daughter, and he wouldn't have it any other way.


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm gonna hang up now, but don't you dare fall asleep. Do you understand? You stay awake for me, okay?" Gil leans on a nearby tree for support, the bark digging into his hand, scratching his skin and leaving the rough imprint of the trunk behind. Malcolm sounds so damn weak and it's absolutely destroying Gil, tearing him open and ripping his heart to shreds. "Malcolm? Sweetheart?"

His heart stutters to a halt and it feels as if the ground has given way beneath him. For a fraction of a second (a second that stretches to the ends of eternity), he fears the worst has come to pass, fears he's lost his husband. And then he hears a wheezing pull of breath on the other end of the line.

"I'm coming, Malcolm. I promise," he says quietly. It takes everything in him to end the call, to leave Malcolm trapped and alone once more. But he can't afford to eat up the last of Malcolm's battery.

"How's he doing?" JT walks up behind Gil just as he's slipping his phone back in his pocket.

As discreetly as he can manage, Gil wipes away the tear tracks that line his cheeks and then sucks in a fortifying breath, holding himself tall as he turns to the steadfast man behind him. 

"We need to find him. Now." Gil grabs a shovel and a flashlight from JT and lets the man lead the way, knowing he's been speaking with the organizer while Gil was on the phone.

"They're directing teams to areas around the ponds and streams, but that's still a lot of ground to cover, especially in the dark." JT leads them unerringly through the woods, presumably towards a quadrant near a body of water that's yet to be searched. They pause briefly for JT to consult his map and then they're stomping their way through the underbrush once again, only stopping once they finally hit a stream. He can't know for sure, but Gil figures they must've hiked nearly two miles to get to their location, and it's only when they finally reach their coordinates that JT turns to Gil, holding up the map as he speaks. "Okay, we're working in a grid pattern. This is our current section."

The area he points to appears miniscule on the map, but they both know it will take them longer than expected to clear it on the ground. The problem is that there's so much area to cover and not nearly enough time to do it.

And Malcolm's life depends on them finding the right plot of land.

Neither man wastes any more time, splitting up and sweeping the ground with their flashlights, the rocky shores of the stream giving way to the shrubs and moss of the forest floor as they walk. 

It's maybe a half hour before the hopelessness of the task truly settles in and takes root beneath Gil's skin. With untold acres to cover and maybe two dozen people searching, it could take days to find where Malcolm's been buried.

"Jesus! Fucking! Christ!" Gil shouts, dropping his flashlight and swinging his shovel at a nearby tree, punctuating each word with a blow that shakes through the metal and reverberates up his arm.

"Gil!?" JT barrels through the trees but by the time he arrives the boiling rage has simmered and left behind an aching helplessness that Gil doesn't know how to handle.

JT seems to understand, his concern bleeding away into sadness that Gil knows is mirrored in his own eyes.

With nothing to offer but empty platitudes, JT stays silent, but he does clasp a comforting hand on Gil's shoulder, just for a moment, before bending down to pick up his flashlight and hand it back.

Gil gives a terse nod in thanks and they're back at it, scanning the ground for any sign of disturbed soil.

He doesn't know how long they're at it before his phone rings, startling him in the near silence of the night.

He checks the caller ID first, praying it's Malcolm, but it's Jessica's number and Gil's heart stutters in his chest, suddenly terrified that something's happened to Ana. That Garrison somehow got past the unis, past Dani, to get to his daughter.

"Jess?" Gil asks in a panic.

"Gil," Jessica chokes out around the tears that are clearly flowing freely. "He just called. M-Malcolm called. To s-say goodbye to Ana."

Gil leans heavily against the nearest tree, the rough bark catching and pulling at his wool coat. "What?"

"He called to say he loves her," Jessica says, obviously trying to pull herself together. "And then he went s-silent. And then he was gone."

"Gone?" Gil whispers, praying that she doesn't mean what he thinks she means.

"The call disconnected," she hurries to explain. "I tried calling back, but it just rings and rings and goes to voicemail. Gil, is he…?"

She can't bring herself to say it any more than he can bear to think it. 

"I don't know." He can barely breathe and thinks it's fitting considering what Malcolm is suffering right now. 

Assuming he's not already dead.

"Gil!" JT's voice is like a slap to the face and he looks up to find JT crashing through the trees, his flashlight and shovel in one hand and his phone in the other. "They found something!"

Gil doesn't even bother with goodbye, just ends the call and follows JT as he sprints through the woods to wherever the search and rescue team had obviously directed him. Thankfully, it's not terribly far from where they'd been searching and within a matter of minutes they're running up to a group of four men digging furiously into the ground.

He doesn't think, doesn't hesitate, just jumps into the already substantial hole and begins to dig, using every ounce of strength he has to shovel the dirt from the makeshift grave. He's so tightly wound that when his shovel lands with a hollow thud, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

It takes a moment more to clear enough of the dirt away that they're able to carefully break through the lid and pry back the boards of the sealed coffin they're standing on.

The other men all vacate the hole, gIving Gil the space he needs to jerk the lid free as soon as it's loosened.

He nearly vomits as he looks inside.

Malcolm is still. Far too still. 

His lips are a disturbing shade of blue, even in the artificial beams of the flashlights that everyone is shining down into the hole as the only source of light, and for a devastating moment, Gil fears that they got there too late. That Malcolm died waiting for Gil to find him.

While his mind is frozen in fear, his body acts on instinct, bending down to scoop Malcolm up, ignoring the fact that Malcolm is as limp as a rag doll as he accepts JT's assistance in lifting him from the grave. 

As soon as Malcolm is laid flat on the ground, Gil scrambles up from the hole, watching intently as JT checks Malcolm's pulse and breath sounds. He drops down next to them just in time to see JT shake his head.

"Pulse is weak, but there. He's not breathing, though," JT says, looking far more worried than Gil has ever seen as his gaze darts around the men and women that surround them. Unfortunately, they're all volunteer officers and none of the actual search and rescue team who are trained to deal with these situations.

Gil doesn't need to be told what to do. He leans over Malcolm, tilting his head back as he opens his mouth, and presses their lips together.

And it's wrong. It's so wrong that Gil wants to scream. He knows what Malcolm's lips feel like. What they're _supposed_ to feel like. And it's nothing like this.

His lips should be warm, responsive, moving over Gil's with the passion they always do.

Instead, they're cold and lifeless and everything that Malcolm isn't. 

And it hurts.

The first breath of air that passes from Gil's mouth to Malcolm's doesn't do much of anything. Neither do the second or third. 

And with every puff of air that passes into Malcolm's lungs with no response, Gil loses a piece of his soul.

"Please, sweetheart," Gil whispers as he leans back to feel for Malcolm's pulse, relieved to find it still tapping softly beneath his skin. "Don't give up on me."

He leans back in and breathes all of his love and devotion and hope for their future into Malcolm, and then nearly breaks down when Malcolm coughs out a rasping, hacking breath, that sounds like it's stripping his lungs as it forces its way free.

"Oh, thank God." Gil pulls Malcolm into his arms, crushing him against his chest in an unrelenting grip as Malcolm continues to gasp for air. At first, Malcolm's arms remain limp at his sides, but the longer Gil holds him, the more air he sucks into his lungs, the more he slowly comes to life.

"Gil?" Malcolm whispers, sounding weak but so unbelievably _alive_ that Gil can't help but laugh, joy and desperation colliding to make the short bark sound broken and almost hysterical.

"Yeah, kid," Gil huffs and then buries his face in Malcolm's hair, breathing in deep, the scent of his husband filling his soul. "I'm here."

There's a relieved sigh from Malcolm, but Gil can barely hear it over the sound of his heart thumping out a staccato rhythm that echoes in his ears. He does, however, hear Malcolm's quiet request as though it had been shouted into the night.

"Don't leave me?"

"Never," Gil promises, his muscles finally shedding some of the tension he's been carrying as Malcolm's grip becomes steadily stronger.

By the time a medic arrives, Malcolm is holding Gil so tightly that she has no hope of wedging in and checking Malcolm over. With Gil's help, she manages to pry Malcolm away long enough to slip an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, though Malcolm promptly buries his face back in the crook of Gil's neck as soon as it's strapped around his head.

"Sir, we need to get him to the hospital," the medic says to Gil after checking Malcolm's pulse and somehow managing to sneak a peek at his pupillary response. "Oxygen deprivation can have serious consequences and he needs to be checked over."

She's right, of course, and Gil knows it. But he can't seem to convince himself to let go. And from the feel of it, Malcolm is facing the same predicament.

And at this point, Gil is willing to give Malcolm anything he wants.

With JT's help, Gil gets to his feet without ever releasing his hold on Malcolm. JT seems to understand instinctively that Gil has no intention of letting go, even going so far as to haul the oxygen tank over his shoulder and place a steadying hand on Gil's back as they start their trek through the woods, heading towards the nearest access road. JT's already radioed for an ambulance to meet them there.

It's slow going. 

Gil knows it would go a whole lot faster with Malcolm on a stretcher, carried by four people instead of just him, but they're walking a fine line between getting Malcolm the medical care he requires and giving him the emotional support he so desperately needs, and since he's breathing just fine and holding on with a vice-like grip around Gil's neck, Gil is fairly comfortable with how things are progressing.

"Do you want me to take over for a while?" JT offers quietly as Gil stumbles over a raised root that he didn't see in time. 

The way Malcolm's grip becomes impossibly tighter at the offer is all the encouragement he needs to straighten up and keep walking. "No. Thanks though," Gil says, but then realizes that there are a number of phone calls to be made. "Would you mind filling Powell and Jess in, though?"

Jessica is probably beside herself at this point. She needs to know that Malcolm is safe, and if Ana is awake like Gil expects, she needs to be able to tell their baby girl that her daddy is coming home.

He's not expecting the sudden note of urgency in JT's voice as soon as he makes the first call to Dani. 

"Is anyone hurt?" JT asks, his eyebrows creasing in concern as he listens to Dani on the other end of the phone.

Gil freezes in place, and even Malcolm's head jerks up from where it had been resting on Gil's shoulder at the question, waiting for an answer that they both know could alter their lives forever.

"Yeah, I'll pass it on," JT says after a moment. "We've got Bright and we're heading to the ambulance now. He's good," A slight pause while Dani talks and then, "I'll let you know what hospital we're going to and meet you there."

As soon as JT's disconnected the call, he turns to Gil and Malcolm and explains before they even have a chance to ask.

"They're fine," JT says, to start, washing away the worst of Gil's concerns with those two small words. "Uniforms tracked Garrison's cell from a call he made to the phone he left Bright?" 

Gil and JT both look to Malcolm, the question clear in their eyes. The fact that Garrison called Malcolm, presumably to taunt him in his final moments, leaves Gil's blood boiling, but Malcolm just waves him off and gestures for JT to continue.

"Garrison ran when the black and whites showed up," JT explains, knowing there'll be time to sort out everything that happened between Garrison and Bright soon enough. "It forced him to make his move. He went for Ana."

Even with JT's assurances that they're fine, Gil's heart falters in his chest, missing one beat, and then another, and then racing so hard his grip on Malcolm wavers, but Malcolm is already squirming out of his arms, working to pull the oxygen mask from his face and run to his daughter.

"Bro, settle down," JT says, halting Malcolm's progress as he tries to tug the plastic mask over his head. Gil is too busy trying to set him on the ground without letting him tumble to the forest floor or he would've performed the action himself. "He didn't get anywhere near her."

The relief is indescribable. 

But Gil's sure the rollercoaster of emotions he's been riding over the last few hours is going to leave him entirely grey by the time the sun comes up.

"He made it as far as the lobby. The car parked out front called it in and tried to stop him," JT grimaces as he continues on. "Officer O'Brian took a bullet to the shoulder but it looks like he's gonna be fine. Garrison and Dani had 'a bit of a scuffle' when he got in, her words, and she ended up needing to employ lethal force to keep him from Mrs. Whitly and Ana."

Lethal force.

As a Lieutenant, it's not a phrase he ever wants to hear.

As a husband and father, he thinks he owes Dani more than he can ever repay.

"And Powell?" Gil asks, keeping a firm grip around Malcolm as his husband sways on his feet.

"Says she's fine. Sounds like she has a broken nose." JT sounds both pissed and worried and Gil feels the same way. "She's gonna meet us at the hospital, along with Mrs. Whitly and Analyn."

"Then let's go," Malcolm's voice is muffled by the thick plastic, but there's a firmness there that makes Gil love him all the more. He's not going to let something so trivial as being buried alive keep him from their daughter.

With Malcolm upright and more determined than Gil's ever seen, they make far better time as they trudge through the woods to the access road where the ambulance is waiting. Gil and JT bracket Malcolm without a word, maintaining a firm hold to keep him steady and help support his weight as his muscles still tremble and shake, though with every step he seems a little sturdier, and with every step Gil's heart feels a little lighter.

By the time they reach the ambulance, they can barely hold Malcolm back. And Gil completely understands his haste. There is nothing in the world that he wants more right now than to be holding Malcolm and Analyn. To know they're safe and well.

JT gets them loaded in the ambulance, settling the oxygen tank next to Malcolm who quite clearly wants to pull the damn thing off and be done with it, but instead of taking a seat, he holds out his hand, palm up, to Gil.

"Keys," he says simply. "I'll stay and process the scene then bring your car back."

Gil truly couldn't be more thankful for JT's presence of mind. He passes over his keys with a heartfelt thank you to his ever-loyal detective, and then the doors are closing and the ambulance is pulling away, taking them closer and closer to their baby girl.

And Gil _finally_ feels like he can breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to procrastinatingsab for helping work out a part of this chapter to make it flow a little smoother!


	7. Chapter 7

The ambulance ride is...trying.

While Malcolm knows that Analyn is safe — protected by Jessica and Dani, two women that would never allow anything to happen to the little girl — and while he knows that Garrison is no longer a threat to anyone, he still absolutely _aches_ to hold his baby in his arms.

Despite the paramedic's best attempts to lay him down, Malcolm ends up sitting next to Gil, holding his husband's hand like he never wants to let go. He doesn't. As a compromise, he agrees to keep the oxygen mask on and even submits to some of the tests that the medic wants to run.

Gil is an unwavering presence at his side, as always, and Malcolm has never felt more blessed to have married such a stalwart man. He knows that Gil never gave up hope on finding him, never gave up on Malcolm.

And he knows he never will.

"Thank you," Malcolm says through the mask, leaning into Gil's shoulder. "For finding me. For keeping Ana safe. For loving me."

God. That came out sappier than he intended. 

He blames the oxygen deprivation.

But Gil's arm around his shoulders just tightens and he feels the press of Gil's lips against his hair. "Always, kid."

He dozes off and on for the rest of the trip, safe in Gil's arms, never falling deep enough into sleep to summon the nightmares that he knows are waiting for him. By the time they reach the city and pull up in front of the hospital, he feels a little more like himself. 

Despite his protests that he's fine now and doesn't need to be admitted, Gil remains resolutely unmovable on the subject, and soon enough they're in a curtained-off cubicle awaiting a number of tests to ensure he's as 'fine' as he claims. Thankfully, his blood oxygen levels are respectable enough to no longer require the mask, which makes the entire situation moderately more tolerable.

They've only been settled into the room for maybe twenty minutes when the distinctive clack of high heels on linoleum floats into the room, just before Jessica comes bustling through the doorway, looking far less perfectly put together than Malcolm's seen her in years, with a blouse that's partly untucked on one side and makeup that's smudged from crying. 

And she doesn't seem to care at all.

Malcolm doesn't even have a chance to process this bordering-on-unkempt version of his mother, though, because every atom of his being is being pulled towards the little girl that's cradled on her hip, holding tight around Jessica's neck and looking profoundly wary of her surroundings.

But as soon as she catches sight of Malcolm, her eyes go wide, lip trembling as she reaches out with both hands. "Daddy."

He reaches out for his daughter the same way, scooping her into his arms and holding her against his chest as she squeezes him so tight that it almost hurts, but he makes no move to loosen her hold around his neck.

Warm tears begin to fall, trailing down his cheeks as he holds her close. "Oh, Sweet Pea, I've missed you so much."

When he looks over to Gil, he finds matching tears causing his husband's eyes to glint in the harsh fluorescent lights. All it takes is an outstretched hand before Gil is perched on the side of the bed, wrapping them both up in strong arms, holding them with an unyielding grip.

Despite everything that's happened in the last few hours, Malcolm suddenly feels as though the world is _right_ now that he has Gil and Ana next to him once again.

"Daddy?" Ana asks quietly. Gil and Malcolm both pull back enough that Analyn can lean away from Malcolm, just enough to gently lay her small hands on his cheeks, looking at him seriously as she asks, "Are you coming home now?"

"Yeah, Sweet Pea, I'm coming home," Malcolm promises.

Ana takes a moment to look in Malcolm's eyes, searching for the truth of the words like she often does, already mimicking his ability to read people frighteningly well. With a satisfied nod her expression turns soft and she glances over to Jessica where she's taken up sentry on the opposite side of the bed from Gil. She's obviously trying to give their family a moment together while still assuring herself that Malcolm is safe, her hand carding gently through his hair, just like she used to when he was a child.

It's comforting in a way he hadn't expected.

His attention is once again drawn from Jessica to Ana as she leans in and whispers, "Nana's sad."

She hasn't quite mastered the art of whispering yet, so everyone in their tiny room hears the statement and when he looks up at Jessica, a sad smile is resting heavily on her face as she mouths, "I'm sorry."

He unwinds one of his hands from around Ana, reaching out to give Jessica's fingers a quick squeeze. Later, when Ana is asleep, they can talk about everything and Malcolm can tell her just how much it means to him that she took care of Ana for them. For now, he turns back to Ana.

"Nana was worried before," Malcolm says quietly. "But everything is going to be okay now. No one is sad anymore."

Ana looks between them all and then crinkles her nose. "I think Auntie Dani is sad. She has a hurt nose," Ana starts, and then promptly looks shocked as she adds, "There was lots of blood!"

Malcolm prays that Ana means Dani's broken nose, and not that she saw the aftermath of Garrison's death, but that's yet another item for when Ana is no longer in the room.

"Auntie Dani is just fine, darling, remember?" Jessica reaches out and rubs a hand soothingly over Ana's back while she turns to Malcolm and Gil and quietly adds, "She has some cuts and bruises and a broken nose, but has already been seen to by a doctor and is merely awaiting her discharge papers and care instructions. She was...spectacular. Gil, I insist you give her a raise."

Malcolm will have to wait to get the full story from Dani herself, but he's already trying to devise some way to repay her for keeping his family safe, though he knows there's absolutely nothing he could ever do or buy to thank her enough. 

"I should go check on her," Gil says hesitantly, clearly not pleased with the prospect of leaving his family.

"Nonsense," Jessica tuts, "I'll go see Dani, you three...well. I think you need to be together right now."

She leans down and places a gentle kiss on Malcolm's forehead, murmuring, "I'm glad you're safe, darling," before turning to face Ana and repeating the gesture. She shifts to give Gil's hand a squeeze as well, and then she's heading to the edge of the curtain, looking back with a small smile at the three of them settled perfectly on the bed.

"Call if you need anything." Jessica sweeps from the room, straightening her blouse as she walks, arranging her carefully crafted facade now that the crisis has finally passed. 

"She's a strong woman," Gil says, following Malcolm's gaze. Everything Jessica has been through in her life would crush a lesser person, but Malcolm knows Jessica Whitly has an unparalleled strength that will see her through anything.

"Yes. She is," Malcolm agrees easily before a massive yawn overtakes him. 

Now that he has his daughter in his arms and Gil at his side, now that he's safe and can breathe once again, the exhaustion is beginning to take hold. Ana catches his yawn almost immediately, having been up most of the night herself, and Malcolm notices the fond look in Gil's eyes as his gaze darts between them.

"Papa?" Analyn asks as another yawn is smothered behind her hand.

"Yes, Sweet Pea?" Gil asks with a gentle smile.

"Can we have a little nap time? But. All of us?" Even as she asks, she's snuggling up against Malcolm, her eyes drifting closed as Malcolm draws aimless shapes on her back with his fingers.

Malcolm looks to Gil with an arched eyebrow, not even bothering to hide that he wants the exact same thing.

Gil, of course, caves immediately.

The hospital bed is small, but with the head down and sides up, there's no worries about anyone falling off and it isn't much of a hassle to maneuver Gil on his side next to Malcolm while Analyn stays put on Malcolm's chest.

As soon as they're all settled, Ana reaches up and grabs hold of Gil's ear, a habit she'd developed back when she was just a baby and always reverts to when she's especially sleepy. She's out like a light in a matter of seconds.

Malcolm looks over her sleeping form to Gil, who is watching over them both with a fierce protectiveness that Malcolm can practically feel.

"You must be exhausted," Malcolm says quietly, making sure not to wake Ana. He can only imagine the stress Gil's been under and the fatigue he must be feeling after searching the woods for Malcolm.

"Me?" Gil answers just as quietly. "I think you had the more taxing night."

"Meh. Really, I spent most of the night just laying around," he jokes. Gil scowls at the flippant response but Malcolm knows his husband understands the gallows humour that he so often reverts to. It's a way of processing trauma that he's sure Gabrielle has opinions about, but right now he couldn't care less. "I think we could both use a little nap."

"The doctors will be coming to check on you soon," Gil whispers, but Malcolm can see his eyelids starting to droop, surrendering to the exhaustion now that the stress of the night is burning away with the rising sun.

"That's fine," Malcolm says easily, "but for now, let's sleep."

Gil nods and closes his eyes, snuggling just a little bit closer, letting his heat seep into Malcolm through the thin hospital blanket. Malcolm would rather be at home, of course, with the three of them together in their king-sized bed — he has a sneaking suspicion that Ana is going to be sleeping with them for the foreseeable future — but this is almost as good. 

He has his family, and really, nothing else matters.

"I love you," he whispers as sleep comes to claim him.

Gil's voice follows him into his dreams, "To the moon and back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that left such kind comments on this story!
> 
> I love their little family and I'm sure they'll be having another adventure down the road ❤


End file.
